


if you let me stay

by youaremarvelous



Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Tumblr Drabbles [13]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: When Yuuri wakes up with the telltale signs of an incoming migraine he thinks about waking Viktor.He thinks about it when he stumbles to the kitchen for a citramon and cooling patch, thinks even harder about it when he finds neither in the cabinet and stuffs his feet in his shoes for an early morning run to the convenience store.





	if you let me stay

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt, ["I'm not leaving you!"](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/171836974478/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you)

Yuuri notices it immediately upon waking— the tightness in his neck, the dull throb behind his left eye. He lies still for a moment longer with his face pressed into Viktor’s back, trying to concentrate on the steady rise and fall of Viktor’s breathing and not the building pressure in his skull.

 

The headache refuses to recede no matter how long he stays there, spooned up to his husband, and when it becomes apparent he won’t be able to sink back into the blissful refuge of sleep, Yuuri forces himself from bed. The pain instantly sharpens behind his temple with the change in elevation, splintering through his sinuses and leaving him dizzy.

 

He thinks about waking Viktor.

 

He thinks about it when he stumbles to the kitchen for a citramon and cooling patch, thinks even harder about it when he finds neither in the cabinet and stuffs his feet in his shoes for an early morning run to the convenience store.

 

He doesn’t wake Viktor, a decision he regrets when the corner store’s fluorescent lights pierce through his eye, coursing fire down his neck and sizzling out his nerves. The road melts on the walk back, rippling under his feet in undulating waves of iridescent sunshine that stick his stomach to his throat and his heels to the ground.

 

Yuuri doesn’t remove his shoes when he gets home. Things like manners and long-ingrained habits are seared out of his brain, replaced by pain and pressure and light and the sound of the decorative wall clock _tick tick ticking_ in time with the disorienting pulsing in his brain.

 

He trudges to the master bath, trying hard not to move his neck, trying hard to remember why he came here to begin with. ‘ _Shower_ ,’ his mind provides after a few long seconds (minutes?) of standing there in the dark, avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

 

He turns on the shower but not the light and slumps on the toilet while he waits for the water to heat. Yuuri rests his forehead on the counter and closes his eyes. His surroundings dissolve into an overwhelming echo that trembles in his fingers and turns his lips numb, but the tortuous throbbing keeps him anchored just out of reach of unconsciousness.

 

He feels it more than hears it when Viktor finds him in the dark with his head pressed against his knees, his hands twisted in his hair. There’s a hand on his neck, then his cheek, then the sound of the shower spray, drumming against the tile wall. Then there’s Viktor, and, “honey, what’s wrong? Yurik, talk to me. Please, angel, you’re scaring me.”

 

“I’m allkay—sorry,  _okay_ ,” Yuuri slurs. He sits up as evidence, though the subsequent wince probably dampens the believability of his statement.

 

Or at least, Viktor doesn’t look like he believes it, judging by his furrowed brow and the tight line of his mouth. “Migraine?”

 

Yuuri rests his elbow on the counter and rubs at his temple. “Mm,” he hums because the sound of his own voice hurts.

 

Viktor massages Yuuri’s shoulder for a moment without speaking, kneading into a tight bundle of nerves at the base of his neck. “Can you walk?”

 

“I think I can manage.”

 

“Because I’m very strong.”

 

Yuuri smiles weakly. Even with the pain of what feels like a power tool drilling into his eye socket and cracking his skull apart, his husband is absurdly cute. So, he’s got that going for him, at least. “Is that right?”

 

“Not as strong as you but I do okay.”

 

Yuuri gives Viktor his hand. Better to admit defeat than to make matters worse by braining himself on the bathroom counter, he reasons. He’s grateful for the husband-sized support when they move into the bedroom and the brittle light streaming through their curtains pierces his eyes and turns his knees to jelly.

 

“I’m going to call Yakov,” Viktor says after slinging the duvet over the curtain rod and plastering Yuuri’s face and neck with cooling patches. Yuuri feels fingers in his hair, manicured nails trailed gingerly against his nape. “Don’t cry, dove. I’ll just be gone a moment.”

 

Yuuri wants to argue that he’s not crying, or at least that Viktor is misinterpreting his tears, but it requires articulation too cumbersome to unearth from the mire of his pain-addled brain. “Don’t call Yakov,” he settles on, instead.

 

“I know he loves  _you_ ,” Viktor says in that same gentle tone of voice he’s been using since finding Yuuri in the bathroom. “But the rest of us normal students would be skinned alive if we ditched practice without warning.”

 

“No, I mean,” Yuuri interrupts Viktor’s nervous babbling, hooking two fingers into the hem of his sleeve. “Go to practice, I’ll be fine.”

 

“There’s no way—”

 

“I’m just going to sleep.” Or try to, anyway, as much as the pounding pressure in his brain allows, but Viktor doesn’t need to know that part. “I’ll meet you there as soon as it passes.”

 

Yuuri has his eyes clenched shut against any excess stimuli so he can’t see Viktor’s face, but he can hear his disapproval in the sharp rush of air from his nose. “I’m not comfortable leaving you,” he says after a moment, “you’d still be napping on the toilet if I wasn’t here.”

 

Every ounce of stubborn pride in Yuuri’s body wants to argue otherwise, but the pain ratchets up another notch so he just grunts his disapproval, nuzzles down under the sheets. In the end, it’s for the best. His embarrassment would only be doubled if he insisted he’d be fine, only to dissolve into poorly-muffled sobs the moment Viktor leaves the room for more than a few minutes.

 

Yuuri’s neck hurts too much to move, but he can mentally trace Viktor’s frantic trajectory by the pained hiss of his knee hitting the coffee table and the sharp yelp of his foot finding Makkachin’s tail. When Viktor explodes into the room and spoons up behind him, presses a towel-wrapped ice pack against his neck, Yuuri doesn’t possess the strength or the language to explain that migraines always trigger an internal biochemical predisposition for mood swings—that he’s frustrated and miserable with pain—but he’s fine,  _he’s fine, really_.

 

“Absolutely no skating today,” Viktor declares when the migraine finally ebbs a few long hours of curling in the dark, wishing for death later. Yuuri’s head is in his lap, the postdrome stage leaving him woozy and sore but loose with relief. “No walking Makkachin—” Viktor smoothes down Yuuri’s eyebrows with the pad of his thumb—“no walking period.”

 

“Am I allowed to walk to the bathroom?”

 

Viktor pales. “Are you going to be sick again?”

 

Yuuri would laugh if it didn’t feel like there was a bruise on his brain, ready to careen him back into pulsating agony. “No—” he reaches up to pet Viktor’s cheek. “That was me teasing you.”

 

“No teasing, either,” Viktor huffs, scratching his nails into Yuuri’s hairline.

 

“What am I allowed to do, that list seems shorter.”

 

“You can lay there,” Viktor says, indignant, “and love me.”

 

Yuuri grips his fingers into Viktor’s shirt, tugs him back down to bed to cuddle with him there—his head pillowed against Viktor’s chest. “Deal.“

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable [here](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/172317263008/for-the-prompts-89-with-victuuri)


End file.
